Can't go back
by HMai
Summary: 'Things began to go wrong when he was eight. His meeting with a certain curly-haired little boy had taught him that, despite what his father had said, violence actually did work rather well.' Reform!Klaine AU.
1. Chapter 1

**So reform!Dalton... It's actually become my new favourite thing lately. I opened a word document the other day to give it a try myself. This was going to be a oneshot... Yeah, so that went well. Five pages of BB!Klaine and a good serving of angst later and this is what I came up with. I don't even know but I do hope you like it because I'm having a lot of fun with it. That's all really. Thanks for reading! Sorry in advance for any britishisms that may pop up here and there, I've tried to catch them but there may be a few scattered around. **

**Warning: Swearing, there will probably be quite a lot of that, especially in the next few chapters. Also there's a lot of angst here but I promise it gets better. **

**Disclaimer: It's all RM's. **

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><p>The first time Kurt met him was when he was eight. It was a warm summer's afternoon and the air was thick with humidity. Kurt was limping from school. It was past three, Kurt had missed his school bus. The reason for that was a group of older boys who had thought that throwing Kurt into a dumpster would be funny. He'd squirmed and yelled and tried to free himself, really he had, but the four pairs of strong arms that clung to his short little limbs had simply been too strong.<p>

As he shuffled down the deserted suburban street Kurt sniffled miserably as the hot tears still trailed down his dirtied face. It wasn't the sharp pain in his leg that had produced the tears though, no. The thing that hurt the most was the profound shame that settled heavily in his innocent heart. He felt ashamed of himself. He dreaded the day that his daddy found about the bullying. He resented the moisture pooling in his eyes, even at eight. He resented it because he was a _Hummel_ and daddy always told him: "No one pushes the Hummels around." But here Kurt was, being pushed, shoved, tripped and tossed on a daily basis. He would never be as strong and as big as his daddy.

Kurt's small face scrunched up in a deep frown and he kicked a discarded can in his path angrily. His little bottom lip stuck out and began to wobble. _It wasn't fair, _thought Kurt miserably stopping in his tracks. He walked to the end of the sidewalk and sat down heavily, wincing at the applied pressure to a string of new bruises forming all over his skinny frame. Kurt pulled up his knees to his chin and wrapped is little arms around them. Curled up against them, Kurt cried. He hated the bullies. He wanted a friend, just one friend that wouldn't push him over and yell mean things. He wanted his daddy to pick him up and tell him it was okay. He wanted to be home, not sat, alone, in the middle of a foreign street.

More than anything Kurt just wanted his mommy back.

For what felt like an eternity to an eight year old Kurt just cried on the sidewalk. His slight shoulders shook as he sobbed into his arms, the sad, mournful sound of a little boy with a broken spirit. When his sobs began to subside into hiccups and sniffling Kurt noticed that the world had suddenly become colder. He opened his eyes and realised it was because he'd been cast in shadow. Cautiously, with stuttered breath he turned his head to see what, or who, had taken away the sun.

Kurt's stomach dropped. Standing over him was another boy, a little taller than Kurt. Unlike Kurt's perfectly combed hair this boy had a mane of unruly black curls that fell in messy disarray almost down to his shoulders. He was wearing a dirty red t-shirt and a battered pair of denim shorts that showed off scabbed knees. His folded arms were adorned with colourful plasters. The boy didn't scare Kurt for the same reason as the bullies did. The bullies were big and strong, the little boy was taller but his arms were almost as skinny as Kurt's. It was the little boy's expression that caused the fear to ignite in Kurt's small chest. The boy was scowling at him, large eyebrows pulled down low over hazel eyes fringed with thick eyelashes. If it wasn't for the menacing expression Kurt might have thought he was pretty, which of course he wouldn't have, because boys weren't meant to find other boys pretty. That was what Davey had said before shoving him into the sandbox last week. Kurt began to tremble as he stared with wide eyes up at the scary boy. He didn't want to be hurt again today.

The boy raised his hand and Kurt flinched away, bringing his arms over his head as he was used to doing. He waited for the blow.

The blow didn't come. Instead a sticky hand wrapped itself around Kurt's and he was roughly tugged up with such force that he fell right into the other little boys arms. He looked up at the boy in alarm. The little boy's expression hadn't changed much but Kurt thought that his eyes had changed somehow, they seemed much more sparkly, but Kurt still felt the bubble of fear in his chest. He blinked a few times, eyes felt sore and gritty from crying, before taking a step back from the dark haired boy. The boy didn't stop him but for some reason he kept Kurt's fingers tightly bound between his. They stood in silence for a little while as Kurt's breathing returned to normal.

"Why are you crying?" The little boy asked in a firm voice. Kurt started in surprise.

"I-I..." began Kurt in a small voice but he couldn't finish. He looked away and stared intently at the ground, shuffling his feet uncomfortably.

"Is someone being mean to you?" Asked the little boy and Kurt glanced up in shock. "I could beat them up for you." The boy offered casually, face completely serious. Kurt's eyebrows knitted together.

"My daddy says that I shouldn't fight." Kurt said with a little more resolution than before. The boy tilted his head to one side.

"He does?" He asked. Kurt nodded shyly, returning his gaze to his ruined shoes. There had been milk in the dumpster and Kurt had stepped in it. He remembered the feeling of the sour liquid seeping in through his brand new red sneakers and felt himself wanting to cry again. He bit his lip to stop the sound from escaping.

"Hey!" The boy yelled suddenly. Kurt stiffened and his eyes widened again as he looked up nervously. Had he made the boy angry? _Yes_, Kurt confirmed with that one look. The boy looked really angry.

"Look at me!" The boy commanded. With no other choice Kurt met the boy's fiery hazel eyes.

"You shouldn't let people make you cry!" The boy released Kurt's hand and placed both hands on either side of Kurt's face, wiping away his tears with grubby thumbs. Kurt bit his lip and tried to force the moisture back.

"Some guys picked on me once," the boy said in a slightly more conversational tone. Kurt couldn't imagine the boy being pushed around by anyone.

"Really?" Asked Kurt softly. "What did you do?" For the first time since he'd met the little boy his lips quirked up a little, but only for a second.

"I taught them a lesson." He answered in a tone far too dark for a child his age. Kurt couldn't help but shiver slightly as a warm breeze blew past them. The little boy was brushing Kurt's shoulder's free of some of the grime he'd missed earlier.

"My name is Blaine." The boy said offering his sticky hand to shake. Kurt was surprised at such a polite gesture but gingerly took his hand nonetheless.

"Kurt." He answered quietly shaking Blaine's hand.

"Won't your mommy and daddy be wondering where you are?" Asked Blaine seriously. Kurt's stomach began to knot in anxiety. He'd completely forgotten about his daddy, he was late from school and hadn't told him where he was! His daddy was going to be angry at him. Kurt's heartbeat began to speed up.

His distress must have been visible because for an instant Blaine's face softened.

"Hey, it's okay!" Reassured Blaine rubbing Kurt's arms comfortingly.

"But I don't even know how far away I am! My dad's going to be so-o-o-" Kurt's voice cracked and tears welled up in his eyes again. "-so angry with me."

"Where do you live?" Blaine asked calmly. Kurt swallowed thickly and told him the address that his dad had made him memorise when he was six. Blaine nodded and looked relieved.

"That's not far," he reached out his hand and wiggled his stubby, little fingers. "I'll take you there."

Kurt felt his face flush with warmth and didn't hesitate to take the little boy's hand again. Although Blaine was clearly his age Kurt couldn't help but feel a surge of contentment well up through his body when his fingertips weaved their way through Blaine's. It felt safe, like home. He smiled up at Blaine and the tears stopped. Maybe this was what it felt like to have a friend.

"Thank you." Blaine didn't smile back but his cheeks looked flushed as he nodded curtly.

Kurt had expected Blaine to release his hand once they began walking down the street but he didn't and Kurt, for some reason he couldn't understand, was glad and held on a little tighter. Blaine looked down at their intertwined fingers but didn't comment or react.

"Won't your parents be worried about where you are?" Asked Kurt after three blocks of walking in silence. Blaine laughed but the sound wasn't like Kurt's laughter. It didn't sound like a very happy sound at all.

"They won't care," said Blaine. Kurt frowned a little in confusion but didn't ask what he meant.

"So what did those kids do to you?" Blaine asked eventually. Kurt sighed a little and squirmed uncomfortably.

"They..." Kurt flushed in embarrassment.

"It's okay," Blaine said with a squeeze of his hand. "I won't laugh at you. I promise." Kurt believed him.

"They threw me in the dumpster." Kurt said glumly. Blaine stopped in his tracks. Kurt looked up at him, wondering what the problem was, only to see that Blaine's little face was twisted in what looked like rage.

"What?" Kurt asked panicking a little. "What's wrong?"

"They threw you in the dumpster?" Blaine demanded angrily. Kurt gulped and nodded. Blaine huffed.

"If I'd been there I would have kicked their butts."Grumbled the boy. Kurt stared at him in shock.

"Why?" Kurt asked in confusion.

"Because they threw you in the dumpster," said Blaine giving him an odd look. "Of course I would."

Kurt still didn't understand but didn't press the subject for fear of this little boy's anger being directed towards _him_.

"How old are you?" asked Kurt instead.

"I'm eight."

"So you're in the same grade as me!" Kurt exclaimed, beaming up at Blaine. Blaine blinked at him but eventually his frowning lips twitched up into a smile.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"But you don't go to McKinley Elementary, do you?" Kurt asked with a frown.

"No." Blaine said with a shake of his head, his curls whipped around his face and Kurt smiled. They walked hand in hand past the rows of neat suburban houses. Some children played out in their front yards, making the most of the midday sun. Kurt's heart hurt a little when he saw all the mommies playing with their kids.

"Do you have a mommy?" Kurt asked Blaine in a little voice.

"Yeah, but she's probably not as nice as yours." Blaine said tilting his head to the side so that he could look at Kurt properly. Kurt didn't say anything.

"But she's probably alive..." mumbled Kurt. Blaine's frown deepened and he moved closer to Kurt so that their arms brushed as they walked.

Eventually the boys turned a corner and suddenly Kurt was met with a familiar street, his street. The weight inside his chest began to lift.

"I know where we are! I know where we are!" Kurt sang happily. Blaine's face stayed the same and Kurt wondered why he was so sad. Because when people didn't smile it meant they were sad right?

"Can you see your house yet?" Blaine asked, when Kurt nodded his head enthusiastically Blaine bowed his head and released Kurt's hand. Kurt looked down at his empty hand and then back at Blaine. All of a sudden Kurt felt the urge to cry.

"Hey, don't cry again!" Blaine warned without any real threat in his voice. "I've got to go home sometime!" Kurt pouted, his little lip sticking out.

"Can't you stay and play for a little while?" Kurt asked desperately, but Blaine was already shaking his head.

"I'm sorry." Kurt nodded in glum understanding and began to walk away. He'd only gotten a few steps when an outstretched leg appeared in his path. Kurt didn't see it quickly enough and he went tumbling down to the ground, his bare knees scraped the gravelly sidewalk and his palms were cut against the rough ground. For a second Kurt lay on the ground in shock but by the time the pain in his hands and knees was beginning to register he could feel the sobs building in his chest. Distantly he heard the nasty laughter of one of the neighbourhood bullies, Tomas.

Kurt was too distraught by the wounds to notice when the laughter turned into yells of pain. When he'd finally composed himself he turned to a scene he did not expect and gasped in horror.

Blaine was sitting on Tomas' large chest, one of his hands fisted in the larger boy's shirt and the other was curled into a fist as he punched Tomas' large nose and beady eyes over and over again. Kurt had never liked violence and he really, _really_ didn't like _Blaine_ being violent.

Kurt acted on instinct. He lunged from where he was beginning to sit up on the pavement and reached out to wrap his arms around Blaine's skinny waist.

"Blaine! Blaine, come on you're going to get in trouble!" Kurt yelled desperately. At first Blaine ignored him, Tomas was groaning and yelping beneath Blaine and for a second Kurt wondered how someone as little as Blaine was able to overpower someone as big as Tomas. Kurt tightened his hold on Blaine's stomach. Blaine paused, the blows to Tomas' face slowed down until eventually they stopped altogether. Blaine's face scared Kurt. He didn't look happy at all, he looked like there was something missing from his eyes. It made Kurt sad.

Blaine released his hold on the bully and Tomas' head fell heavily to the ground. He was snivelling pathetically and before Blaine could even get up he was snaking from beneath him and running to the house in tears, clutching his bloody nose. A door slammed and Kurt and Blaine were once again left alone on the sidewalk, the only sound was Blaine's heavy breathing as it returned to normal. He closed his eyes and breathed through his nose. Kurt merely sat in silence and waited.

"He shouldn't have tripped you up." Was all Blaine said. Kurt nodded and this time it was him who reached his hand out to the curly-haired boy. Like Kurt, Blaine accepted the hand without hesitation but pulled back when Kurt gasped a little. He'd forgotten that he'd hurt his hands.

"I think I need a bandaid..." Kurt said lamely. Blaine's lips quirked up.

"I think you're going to need more than one." They both got up and began walking in the direction of Kurt's house, Blaine trailing behind. Kurt stopped before his front gate. Suddenly Kurt was afraid to let Blaine leave. Was Blaine his friend? He acted nice. That's what friends did, right?

Kurt had never had a friend before.

"Will you come and see me? We could play in my sandbox." Kurt said brightly. For the first time since they met that day Blaine's face lit up into a smile. A real smile, Kurt knew it was because it made his eyes scrunch up. Kurt's face flushed red, because he'd right. Blaine really was pretty when he wasn't frowning. Kurt suddenly couldn't look his new friend in the eye. He was surprised when a pair of strong little arms wrapped themselves around his narrow shoulders and squeezed tightly, almost as tight as when his daddy hugged him. Kurt was even _more_ surprised when Blaine planted a wet, sticky kiss to his cheek before pulling away, looking pleased.

Kurt's little hand shot up to the spot on his cheek Kurt had kissed. He looked at Blaine with the kind of innocent, unabashed awe that's only ever seen in young children. Blaine shuffled his feet looking almost bashful.

"Remember," said Blaine raising his wide eyes from his sneakers. "Don't let people like that bully get you down, promise?" Kurt sniffed loudly and nodded, he bit his bottom lip.

"Thank you Blaine." Blaine smiled again, his real smile, before pecking Kurt on the other cheek and rushing away down the street. He paused before Tomas' house and picked up a rock. He threw it viciously at the brand new, red bike that Tomas had gotten on his birthday. Kurt gasped and Blaine turned to wave at him before disappearing around the street corner. As he did he heard a door open and turned to see his dad emerge from their house.

"Kurt! Where the hell have you been kid? I've been worried sick!" Kurt ran up to his dad as quickly as his little legs would take him and allowed his dad to scoop him up. He wrapped his arms around his dad's broad neck and told him everything.

It was the last time Kurt saw the violent little boy with the unruly hair and pretty face. He forgot the boy's face and his name but Kurt would always remember the little boy that beat his bully to a pulp and gave him the strength he'd needed.

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><p>Blaine stared up at the familiar chain-link fence with mixed emotions. The barbed wire lining the top gleamed menacingly in the cool autumn sun. It had been five months since he'd left. Five months since he'd had no choice but to change. Circumstances had forced Blaine to take responsibility and show the world he could be a functioning member of society.<p>

_Functioning member of society_, Blaine thought sourly. _What a fucking joke._

Blaine kicked his way through the red and yellow leaves that blanketed the gravel path. He paused before the gate and looked up at the large, bleak building looming before him. With a sigh he walked back through the familiar gates.

To the left of the gate a rusting sign quivered in a sudden breeze.

It read **"DALTON ACADEMY" **in bold, red lettering. The bottom half of the sign was obscured by the untrimmed branches of a bramble bush but when Blaine was halfway up the path another strong, bitter wind cut through the air and the foliage shifted enough to make the rest of the sign visible.

**DALTON ACADEMY -  
><strong>_Reform school for boys. _

Blaine paused again, this time in front of the door to the school reception. He gritted his teeth as a wave of disdain came crashing through his entire body. He wished he could be anywhere, _anywhere_ but here.

_You're not doing this for yourself._ He reminded himself bitterly and without giving himself an excuse to turn around and leave he reached out to open the heavy glass door and escape the harsh chill.

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><p>Kurt had been a quiet child. He had been polite, optimistic, always smiling.<p>

Things began to go wrong when he was eight. His meeting with a certain curly-haired little boy had taught him that, despite what his father had said, violence actually did work rather well. The change was gradual at first, it had to be really as Kurt was a rather small, delicate little boy.

At first, when he shoved the bullies back they simply shoved him back down, harder than before. This continued for a while, Kurt's scabbed knees became thicker as it healed, his bloody hands stronger. Burt was at a loss. He loved Kurt, more than anything, he wanted Kurt to be safe.

When Kurt was nine Burt enrolled him in kickboxing classes. No one, least of all Kurt's tormentors could have predicted how easily the seemingly weak bodied little boy would have taken to the skill.

When Kurt was ten his bullies realised that speed often beat strength. Kurt, although he lacked the thick-boned body that one may associate with a fighter, was fast. Kurt learned to fight off his bullies with his quick-mind and what physical strength he possessed.

For two years the bullies gave Kurt a wide berth. If anyone ever did say anything Kurt went crazy and kicks, punches, pulled hair and bites would no doubt ensue. Kurt got into trouble a lot at school, Burt would scold him and yell but the only result was Kurt becoming more and more introverted. He gained the respect of his bullies but the other children kept away from him. The other boys found new people to push and shove. Kurt didn't say anything, he watched and laughed like the rest of the children because at least they weren't picking on him.

The only problem was that Kurt was lonely. Even as he laughed naughtily with the group of boys and threw things at girls to get their attention, he knew. He felt an itch, an itch that grew stronger with every passing day. Kurt wanted to wear nice clothes, he didn't want to play soccer and get dirty. He wanted to read the pretty, glossy magazines that the other girls had started to read. It hurt his heart a little when Davey took Lily's copy of seventeen and ripped it in two. It hurt his heart even more when Lily glared at him like she'd glared at the rest of the boys but by then it was too late. Kurt had forgotten how to say 'I'm sorry.' Kurt had gained the ability to fight but along the way he had lost a little of himself. That year Burt found a stack of magazines under his son's bed. He'd chuckled to himself, expecting to see a secret stash of playboys. Burt hadn't expected to find a neat stack of Vogue's, perfectly ordered by issue. It had surprised him but somehow at the same time he wasn't surprised at all. He returned the magazines to their hiding place and didn't confront Kurt.

When Kurt turned thirteen a realisation that had been growing inside of him became clear. The other boys became bashful and red-faced around girls. Sometimes they'd talk about girls and they'd ask Kurt which girl he'd like to do certain _things_ with.

Kurt couldn't answer because Kurt didn't like any of the girls. _Kurt didn't like girl_s_._ The locker rooms became hell for him and he did all that he could to hide his terrible, shameful secret. Kurt became miserable.

When Kurt entered high school the boys around him began to change. They shot up, towering over the other girls and consequently, over Kurt too. Their chests and shoulders became broader and their voices deepened. None of these things happened to Kurt. His friends turned on him and suddenly Kurt was eight years old again, fighting to keep afloat. Once again, Kurt's palms were scraped, his shoulders bruised by the lockers. Worst of all was that the one thing that could have protected Kurt's mind, the _one_ thing, was something out Kurt's reach. Kurt had lost himself. Kurt didn't know how to change. He envied the beautiful men and women in the issues of Vogue that he still bought religiously and still hid under his bed but that had become a far away dream.

When Kurt was fifteen he joined Glee club. Kurt had some of the happiest memories of his life in Glee. For the first time Kurt made friends, tentatively he began to embrace the ghost of the person he could have been, the person he _should_ have been. The bullying continued but now Kurt had a buffer, a reason to continue. Kurt began dressing differently, instead of admiring the vibrant colours and sharp cuts in magazines Kurt sought them out for himself. A month after he joined Glee club he came out to his friend Mercedes. She accepted him the way he was. Kurt escaped the taunting and the hatred through his voice, his clothes, he stopped resenting who he was inside. Breathing and living became easier, lighter almost. Kurt hadn't forgotten how to fight but with the New Directions and his father by his side he lost the urge.

Kurt thought that it all must be too good to be true. The sad thing was that it turned out he was right. The strain suffered by his father in recent years took its toll. The fighting, the calls from school, the suspension... It must have had a greater affect on his father than Kurt realised. Burt Hummel suffered a heart attack and Kurt's life was turned upside down. The glee members tried to help but there was nothing they could do. Kurt became a shell as his father battled away in hospital.

One night, as Kurt was making his way home from the hospital one of his very first tormentors, Tomas, crossed his path.

"_Watch where you're going you filthy faggot!" _

The shell shattered.

Tomas suffered a broken nose, cuts and bruises and four broken ribs.

Burt pulled through.

A few weeks after his sixteenth birthday Kurt was sent to Dalton Academy, he would be forced to remain there for six months.

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><p><strong>Okay so this may sound weird but that bit with Kurt actually <strong>_**hurt**_** to write. Why the hell am I such an angst whore? Ergh. Anyway, moving on! I'm not sure how long this will be. I was thinking about four chapters or so but I might get caught up in it and write more, we'll see I guess. **

**I was really nervous about posting this as I've never actually posted anything like this before so I really hope you like it.  
><strong>

**Reviews are like crack to me, so if you have time to let me know what you think that would be brilliant! Thanks for reading! **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Okaaay so this happened quickly. I don't usually get this excited over a fic but I really love writing this. I'm so grateful for the wonderful reviews you've left and a massive thank you to everyone who put this story on their alerts list or followed me on tumblr, you've all honestly made my entire week and I honestly love you! **

**I'm off to see Harry Potter in about half an hour so I wanted to post this now before post-potter depression sets in! Hope you guys like this chapter, it's a bit filler-ish but it's necessary and things pick up soon. If you've got time please review and let me know what you think. **

**Warnings: Again with the swearing, sorry about that. **

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><p>As usual one of the first things that hit Blaine when he walked through the doors of Dalton was the smell. Although from the outside Dalton looked like an old private school the interior had been completely gutted when the building was renovated to create the school, inside the walls where washed white and the floors were tiled with red linoleum. The distinct smell of cleaning detergent and grease from the cafeteria hung pungently in the air. It was something students soon adapted too but it would always catch you unawares on first entering the school. It smelled clinical and made Blaine sick to his stomach until his nose could adapt to the stench. The reception area hadn't changed. Around the room hung some crooked frames, political hopefuls shaking beefy, important hands in stuffy suits and yellowed certificates. Next to a row of hard, red plastic chairs were the skeletal remains of what was once a plant. The leaves were brown and dry at the bottom of the plant's pot, the soil dry and cracked.<p>

It was all the same, even down to the overweight old woman glaring at him from over the reception desk.

"Blaine." Came the cold voice from across the counter. Blaine swallowed the urge to sneer as he had in the past, instead opting for a curt nod. Cecilia the ancient receptionist narrowed her beady eyes at him. The hag had hated Blaine from day one and the animosity wasn't something that would dissipate no matter how 'reformed' Blaine was.

To be fair he had spat in her face when he'd gotten here. It had more or less sealed their fate.

"How can I help you?" she asked in her monotonous tone, the wheezy sound went straight through Blaine and he struggled not to recoil away on instinct.

"Mr. Matthews asked me to meet him." Cecilia stared at him blankly. Blaine felt the old dislike flare violently in his chest.

"Today." He pressed through gritted teeth. Cecilia sniffed in distaste but proceeded to type something into her ancient computer before violently tapping the 'enter' button.

"Room 8. You're old classroom, how nostalgic for you." Cecilia snipped in a voice full of scorn. Blaine wished he could spit in the vile, toad-like woman's face again but refrained. He bit his tongue and walked to the door on the left without thanking her. This was the door that led to the classrooms. As the door clanked shut behind him he heard the old bat grumbling loudly about 'manners'. He glanced back through the door's wire glass. The woman's lip curled and Blaine laughed.

Blaine made his way down the empty corridors and up the first flight of stairs he got to. There were three floors at Dalton. Downstairs was the cafeteria, rec room and the gym as well as classrooms one through three. On the second floor were the boy's lavatory, the science lab (a place many of the students seldom saw since Anthony Rogers had attempted to sneak out explosive materials) and a computer lab. Classrooms four and five were on this floor. Lastly was the third floor, where Blaine was heading now. There were four rooms on the top floor of the school, classrooms six, seven and eight and Blaine's favourite room in the entire school, the music room.

The music room had been a sanctuary to Blaine of sorts. Not many of his peers had been particularly musically inclined, not at first, so Blaine was given free reign over the tatty instruments they had. Blaine had particularly loved the piano. At home Blaine had a rickety old piano that had been passed down from his grandparents, one of his earliest memories had been sitting at that piano with his grandmother. Blaine had taught himself to play and the piano had ended up in his room. His parent's never cared for it anyway. Blaine had often played to drown everything else out. The piano had been old and out of tune but it had been his nonetheless. It was one of the things that Blaine had mourned the most when he'd been sent to Dalton, so when he discovered a slightly less aged piano in the music room during his first week at the school Blaine had suddenly found home.

Blaine had quickly gained the respect of his peers. Rumours flew quickly around Dalton and it became widespread knowledge what Blaine had done to earn his place. Blaine never told them that the rumours had fallen considerably short of the mark because it earned him peace and respect and a handful of close 'friends'.

Unfortunately there were some boys at Dalton, often newbies wanting to secure their own place in the school's food chain, who sought to directly challenge the older boys in order to gain their own respect among Dalton's students. This had been the case with fifteen year old Duncan. One day Blaine had entered the music room to find his beloved piano had been hacked to ugly, splintered pieces. Blaine knew it had been Duncan because the ignorant boy had bragged about it to most of the student body.

Blaine beat Duncan to within an inch of the boy's life as he walked for his bus after school. The teachers never discovered that it had been Blaine's doing as there was a strict 'no grassing' rule at Dalton. It was enforced.

If there had been any doubts as to Blaine's authority before then, his run in with Duncan permanently solidified Blaine's place at the top of the social pack. Blaine spent his days in the music room and eventually the school board had purchased a brand new piano. Gradually other student began to gather around Blaine in the music room. That was how the Warblers had first formed.

Blaine was so lost in his memories that he almost walked straight into another boy. All he saw was the brief flash of stormy eyes and a glimpse of a scornful lip curl as he quickly side-stepped Blaine and made his way down the corridor without pausing.

"Watch where you're going..." The boy muttered in an angry but surprisingly soft voice. Blaine was about to whip around and grab the boy to tell him _exactly_ where he could go when a strong arm was flung around his shoulders.

"Blaine!" He recognised the excitable voice and turned his head to find Wes hanging off him. He had the most terrible feeling of déjà vu.

"Hey," said Blaine with a rueful smile. He glanced back quickly in the direction the other boy had gone but just caught a flash of light, brown hair as he descended the stairs. For some reason it unnerved him. He let it go and turned back to face his old friend.

"We thought you'd fucked off and forgotten us! Where have you been man?" Wes asked with a grin. Blaine smirked back at him immediately falling back into their old light banter.

"I couldn't stay here forever now, could I?" Laughed Blaine. "I've been around, working a few jobs, staying out of trouble mostly... not that you would know anything about that." He taunted. Wes shook his head, laughed and released Blaine's shoulder.

"Things haven't been the same since you left hobbit-boy. I never thought _you_ of all people would end up this straight..." Wes paused and then with a wicked grin said, "Oh wait, scratch that."

"I'm sure you've all been doing fine." Blaine shoved the Asian boy away with a roll of his eyes and didn't respond to his last comment. Wes along with a handful of the other students knew that Blaine was gay. Blaine had never had many issues when it came to his sexuality. Anyone foolish enough to comment had paid dearly. Wes laughed again and wiggled his eyebrows at him suggestively, stretching his arms and placing them behind his head.

"Weren't you only meant to be here till August?" Blaine asked, confused. Wes simply shook his head.

"They caught me shoplifting at that convenience store down the street so they added on a few more months." Blaine's eyes widened.

"They caught _you?_" He asked incredulously. "Jesus, Wes. You must be losing your touch."

"Whatever, man!" Wes retorted with a nudge to his shoulder. "So what brings you back to this shit hole?"

"Mr. Matthews." He answered plainly. Wes gave him a sceptical look and Blaine rushed to explain. "He said he'd pay me if I came in and sang to a couple of the new kids."

"Ahhh..." Wes said, nodding. "Well that makes sense then. Your parents still...?" He stopped short when he saw how Blaine's face darkened and swallowed.

"I'm taking that as a resounding _no_ then..." his friend pressed. Blaine gritted his teeth and closed his eyes.

_One, _Blaine took in a deep intake of breath. _Two, _Blaine exhaled. _Three, _inhale. _Four, _exhale. _Five_, inhale. _Six, _exhale.

Blaine opened his eyes. Six, not bad. He could almost hear Dr. Graf's voice ringing in his ears.

"_Good Blaine, and how do you feel now?"_

Well the anger had subsided. Wes was looking at him with a mix of confusion and amusement.

"Not a subject I'm ready to discuss _Wesley._" Blaine said in a low voice. Wes raised his eyebrows but relented.

"Whatever man, listen I got to go, I told my girlfriend I'd go meet her after school let out." He rolled his eyes and clapped Blaine on the shoulder affectionately. "If you're sticking around I'll talk to you tomorrow, I'll get you up to speed?"

"Up to speed...?" Blaine asked curiously but Wes was already disappearing down the stairs. Blaine looked up at the ceiling and shook his head in exasperation. He'd been back for less than an hour and his head was already swimming.

He made his way down the rest of the corridor without bumping into anybody else. He wondered why Wes and the other boy had stayed so late. School let out almost an hour ago and Dalton students didn't often drag their feet at the end of the day. He reached classroom eight, took a deep breath and rapped his knuckles briefly, twice on the cracked glass before stepping into the now empty classroom.

Everything looked the same as it had always been here too. Blaine was getting a little sick of the familiarity, it made him feel as though he'd never left. Mr. Matthews was sitting behind a battered desk, his feet propped up on the desk and his nose buried in a book as usual. Blaine took a few steps into the room and eventually the teacher tore his eyes away from the tatty-looking book to acknowledge him.

Mr. Matthews had started off in the regular high-school circuit but had found it hard to adjust. Fortunately for Dalton the scruffy haired, rough-looking man's shortcomings in regular education had proven to be some of his best attributes at Dalton.

"It's good to see you again Mr. Anderson." The teacher said genuinely placing the thick paperback on the table without marking his page. Mr. Matthews never marked his page but every time he'd pick a book back up he would always open it at exactly the page he'd left. Blaine crossed the classroom until he was leaning on the table closest to the front of the class.

"I didn't think I'd ever have to come back here." Blaine admitted conversationally as he looked around at the classroom. Someone had torn down a display on the right wall towards the front of the class. Blaine wondered how long it had taken to tear down the protective plastic sheet that had once covered it. That was different, it hadn't been like that when he left. Blaine felt slightly cheered.

"I can imagine," said Mr. Matthews. "It isn't exactly a place one would wish to return really, is it?"

Blaine gave a bitter laugh.

"No not really."

The eccentric teacher suddenly swung his legs from the desk and shifted his position so that he was looking intently at Blaine over the desk, leaning into his clasped hands.

"And I suppose you're wondering why I called you back here..."

Blaine nodded in response. The teacher leaned back and stroked his stubbly chin thoughtfully.

"To put it bluntly things went to shit after you left." He said after a few moments in contemplation. Blaine's eyebrows shot up incredulously.

"Mr. Matthews if you've called me here just to fuck with me..." Started Blaine furiously pushing back the table he'd been sitting on angrily. He stood there with the fury burning a hole in his chest. Mr. Matthews regarded him carefully. Teachers at Dalton had become immune to violent outbursts from students but... Blaine wasn't a student anymore. The boy closed his eyes.

_One, _inhale. _Two, _exhale...

Blaine had to get to twelve this time.

"You said you wanted me to... to teach music?"Blaine asked uncertainly pinching the bridge of his nose. Mr. Matthews nodded slightly.

"You've made great progress in the past few months Blaine-"

There was that word again. _Progress_. Blaine hated that fucking word. It made him feel like some sort of twisted locomotive.

"- and really think that you could use this opportunity to do something _good_ Blaine." Blaine hadn't heard most of what Mr. Matthews had said but he sighed and nodded his head.

"I'll do whatever you want but on one condition." Blaine ran one hand over his tired face, rubbing the bags beneath his eyes. Mr. Matthews inclined his head to the side.

"Oh?" he asked.

"You said that you'd pay me for this, is that right?" Mr. Matthews was nodding with a knowing smile even before Blaine had finished the sentence.

"I understand. I've talked to the headmaster on your behalf, I hope you don't mind, and there are grants in place for these kinds of things. For these 'workshops' if you would. Some believe that people like you could have a greater impact than any of us can." Blaine didn't care about the details. As long as he was being paid, it didn't matter.

"I'll do it." Blaine said firmly. Mr. Matthews regarded him calmly for a few moments before something in his expression softened.

"How many jobs are you already working Blaine?" Asked the tired-looking teacher, Blaine tore his gaze away and stared out the wired windows instead.

"That doesn't matter." He said resolutely. Mr. Matthews heaved a heavy sigh and Blaine could already see where this conversation was headed.

"Blaine won't you at least _consider_ returning to high school?" The man asked desperately. "You're a highly intelligent young man, you could easily fly through your SAT's. Hell, with a brain like yours you could even get a scholarship to a decent College." Blaine snorted at that last part.

"Which self-respecting College would take on someone with my track record, huh?" Blaine laughed but it was an angry, hollow sound.

"There are methods in place Blaine, financial aid- " Blaine kicked a chair, it flew a few metres before crashing into the nearest desk.

"I can't keep having this conversation." Blaine yelled. He tried to breathe but he'd already passed his boiling point. "I _can't_ leave. You know that! Almost everybody in this goddamn _school_ knows that!"

"Blaine you've only just turned seventeen, you can't do this all on your own. You're being ridiculous" Blaine gritted his teeth together so tightly that the tension seemed to travel through his entire body.

"You don't think I've considered other options?" Blaine exploded, this time he shoved the table. "_Shit_." He leaned heavily against the table he'd just pushed away with his back to Mr. Matthews. Even when the man had vacated his vision he could feel his hands curling up into fists, his legs itching to kick.

_Breathe, Blaine. Just breathe. _Blaine pushed all the anger away to somewhere deep inside of him where he wasn't in fear of losing control. When he eventually turned back around Blaine was more or less together, his face impassive and calm.

"I have to try." Blaine said in a subdued tone and for just a second the iron gates lifted and the ghost of a lonely, struggling child could be seen reflected in the pained hazel eyes. Mr. Matthews didn't say anything but the look of regret in his eyes was unmistakable.

"When do I start?" Blaine asked hollowly, throat scratchy from shouting. A smile crept onto Mr. Matthews worn down face.

"We were rather hopping you could start this week."

* * *

><p>By the time Blaine left classroom eight, having discussed the details of his 'employment' with Mr. Matthews in full, he felt positively drained. A part of him wanted to do what he'd usually do when he wanted to escape it all, climb up the fire-escape and onto the roof. He forced himself in the opposite direction. Blaine would save his hiding place for another day.<p>

_Something to look forward to. _He thought dryly.

Blaine descended the stairs taking two, sometimes three, at a time. He speeded down the corridors and didn't give Cecilia a second glance as he blurred through the reception and threw the front doors open wide. The second he was through the doors he took a deep lung full of the cold, crisp air. The sensation made his head swim satisfyingly.

He walked down the leafy path with a much lighter heart than when he arrived. His heart was beating erratically as he neared the chain-linked gates and he realised that many things about Blaine would never change, such as the feeling of near-euphoria he got every time he left this god-forsaken place.

A sound of something heavy hitting the fence made him pause and look up curiously, he saw three figures standing on the opposite side of the links: Two beefy looking boys and another tall, slender youth. The fence clanked again as one of the beefy boys pushed skinny boy back against the surface.

Blaine ignored the sight, it was one he'd become numb to over the years. Quarrels between students was such a common occurrence that it no longer moved Blaine in any way.

Or so he thought.

Blaine glanced up again at the trio, just a flicker of the eyes. He felt unease settle in his stomach, like there was something crawling beneath his skin, Blaine shivered and tried to shake off the unpleasant stir taking place inside of him.

_Keep walking, you don't want to get involved. Keep walking..._

Another glance, this time his eyes lingered on the skinny boy. A flash of a navy, tight fitting t-shirt replayed in his mind.

"_Watch where you're going..."_

It was the boy he'd ran into earlier. Blaine tried to keep his cool, he really, really did. He tried and failed. Before he could reason with himself he was speeding up, jogging, running. He suddenly recognised one of the larger boys. His mind reeled with revulsion. He slowed to a walk and sauntered up to the three. It was almost frightening, how easily Blaine was able to slip into old routine. It made him wonder if he was just fooling himself to think he'd changed.

By now Blaine was close enough to catch snippets of their conversation.

"I don't know what you're angle is here meat-head but I suggest you _back off_." Hissed the tall boy, eyes all smoke and blue fire. Every inch of his body was tensed in a way Blaine recognised, he looked like a snake, coiled and ready to strike. Up close the boy didn't look so weak. The t-shirt clinging to his arms defined well-toned biceps and accentuated his slightly built chest. For a second Blaine contemplated turning around and leaving the two meat heads to figure out their mistake themselves but at that moment Duncan turned his piggy face in his direction. Blaine watched in satisfaction as the boy's eyes widened and his mouth fell slack in fear.

"Hello Duncan," Blaine purred in a low, dangerous voice. "How's the hand?" Duncan's eyes flitted to his left hand which twitched.

"Blaine." Duncan nodded carefully, he grabbed his friend and Blaine heard him mutter a quick "Let's split." Before both boys went stumbling away from him. Blaine turned to the boy, uncertain of what to say.

The boy, with his surprisingly toned arms, pushed himself off the fence. Unlike the other two this boy shot him a look, angry and affronted. Blaine was taken aback as the full weight of the intense blue eyes were inflicted on him in full force.

_Shit_, thought Blaine because he had honestly not seen anyone like him before, certainly not at Dalton of all places. Intrigued, Blaine opened his mouth to speak only for the boy to cut across him.

"I didn't need your help." He snapped angrily and looked Blaine up and down critically. "Even if I did I don't think you'd be the one to supply it."

Blaine blinked in shock. This kid was _definitely _new. Blaine took a step towards him and shot out both hands so that he was trapped against the fence. The boy looked uncertain for a split second and Blaine felt a rush of satisfaction.

"Is that right?" Blaine asked. He was inches away from the other boy, shocking them both. The boy, who Blaine noticed had a good few inches on him, wavered a little at the close proximity and Blaine saw a glimmer of fear deep in the blues. That, along with a gust of wind that exposed him to the head-spinning smell of the boy was almost his undoing because _holy hell_ boys from Dalton did not smell of vanilla. He opened his mouth as about to say something, he didn't know what and he would never know because at that moment the hint of vulnerability the boy had displayed disappeared behind a dark, hardened expression. With more strength than Blaine was expecting the boy pushed him viciously away with a twisted expression.

"Stay the _fuck_ away from me." He hissed. Blaine was rooted to the spot in shock, the boy regarded him evenly before brushing past him, shoving him with his shoulder as he stalked away. Blaine spun around.

"You don't know who the fuck you're talking to!" Yelled Blaine back at him but the only response was a taunting snort. Blaine waited for the anger, for the violent impulse to take control of his body. It didn't come and that was when Blaine knew something must be really, horribly wrong.

Blaine leaned heavily against the fence and let the boy go. He felt oddly light, like all the other problems weren't all that important anymore. It was a feeling that he only ever experienced in the presence of one other.

_Get your shit together Blaine_. He scolded himself internally. He stayed against the fence and watched until the boy disappeared from sight around a corner a few blocks away.

Blaine pushed himself off the fence and started walking in the opposite direction, towards home, and tried to shake off the odd feeling of disappointment slowly settling over him. Blaine tried, unsuccessfully, to convince himself that the new wave of enthusiasm for his 'workshop' at Dalton had nothing to do with the transfixing, stormy eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Sorry it was longer than usual, I've been really busy IRL. I came straight home from work today determined to get this out tonight and here it is! Hopefully you'll like it. **

**Quick thank you to Beca for betaing and Chloe for being the most enthusiastic person in the world. I love you. **

**Thanks to everybody who followed me on tumblr or added me to their alerts/favourites on FF. Also massive thank you to lltheportmanteau on tumblr who put me on her amazing Reform!Klaine masterlist! **

**Now I'm going to keep this short and sweet because I've got to be up in about six hours! Let me know what you think, I love hearing from you! Thanks! **

**Warnings: Swearing.  
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* * *

><p>Blaine had never been an optimist. He'd never been given reason to hope for the best and as a result always expected the worst possible outcomes. It was for this reason that Blaine wasn't feeling at all hopeful for his first day as a 'mentor' at Dalton.<p>

_Mentor_, even as he thought of the word it made him cringe, his lip curled. Blaine Anderson, a mentor?

Blaine pressed his elbows on the piano, evoking an awful sound of clashing keys, and groaned loudly. Not for the first time, Blaine found himself wondering what the hell he was doing here.

With any luck no one would show up and Blaine would be spared this humiliation for another day. But Mr. Matthews _was_ an optimist.

"Let's just see how it goes. People are much more accommodating if they actually choose to do something." Then he'd smiled sadly and added, "You should know that better than anyone, Blaine."

As Blaine sat alone in the empty classroom he couldn't help but roll his eyes at the teacher's misplaced hopefulness. It was a testament to Mr. Matthews's superhuman patience and concern. He glanced up at the clock, placed high above the door, out of damage's way. It was 1:36.

Blaine had been sat here for sixteen minutes. He hadn't expected the pupils to take much notice but, although he would never admit to it, he was a little surprised. Sure, it was more than likely that, after Blaine had left so suddenly, the Warblers had disbanded but he had thought that his two friends would support him at the very least.

He shuffled the sheet music he'd brought on the piano stand, lining them up neatly. Blaine's dishevelled appearance and volatile attitude didn't betray his deeply ingrained need for order but as he lined up the papers perfectly the old trait shone through.

It was at that point that the door to the music room was flung open and a grinning Wes came rushing into the room. The slight breeze created by the open door caught Blaine's papers and they fell from their perch. Blaine frowned slightly as he reached out to stop the sheets from falling to the floor. Behind Wes, looking much more subdued than his best friend was David.

Wes was the first to reach him, ruffling up Blaine's curls and left the hair looking frazzled. Wes had discovered this was one of the surest ways to irritate his new 'vertically challenged' friend within the first few weeks of their friendship. The first time he did it Wes had earned a bloodied nose, still laughing as he was ushered by Mr. Tanner, Class three's teacher, to the Nurse's office. Every time since then Wes had walked away with minor injuries: a punch thrown here, a kick there. Today Blaine kept his breathing even and simply swatted Wes' hand away like an irksome fly.

David reached the two, rolling his eyes at Wes before turning to Blaine, "It's good to have you back." He said with a smile. The contrast between the two was striking and had taken a lot to adjust to at first. Wes clapped his hands in an enthusiastic gesture, rubbing them together enthusiastically.

"So what's the plan?" He asked before looking around and realising that the room was completely empty for the first time. His grin faltered slightly and his expression became puzzled.

"Where is everybody?" He asked. Blaine raised his eyebrows at him, what had he expected?

"You are everybody." Blaine said flatly.

Wes shook his head and waved his hand dismissively, "This won't do. Give me five!" He went rushing out of the room, a determined gleam in his eye. Blaine was left alone with David, they looked at each other with matching expressions, a mix of exasperation and humour.

"Some things never change I guess." David said eventually with a shrug.

Blaine laughed lightly. "I guess not."

Blaine's friendship with Wes and David was, within an environment like Dalton, somewhat strange. Blaine had met the two on his first day at Dalton, it had been inevitable. Wes and David were well known among the students, well known and well respected. Wesley Chang was a thief, not only that, he was an extraordinary thief. Prior to his being sent to Dalton he had shoplifted, burgled and pick-pocketed his way through life without consequence. It had led Wes to the mistaken belief that he was 'untouchable' and this, in turn, had made him reckless. Wes, having always had a great love of automobiles had one day taken his thieving one step too far. The black Mercedes had been tempting and conveniently parked on the wrong side of town. Wes' lucky streak had come to an end somewhere on the road between Lima and Westerville. He was pulled over and arrested shortly after joining the motorway.

Wes maintained that, despite getting caught, the whole event had been 'totally worth it'. The reason behind this was, before being pulled over, the short-lived car chase had been televised by the local TV station. To this day it remains his greatest achievement.

David was Wes' right hand man. Although well-built and able to hold his own in a fist fight David Jackson did not end up in Dalton due to physical crime as most of the students had, but this wasn't to say that David wasn't able to inflict damage in his own way. As a prolific computer hacker, working under the handle 'Pavarotti', David had cracked many high-security networks with relative ease but the hacker soon tired of breaking into the same systems, he wanted to attempt something different, something new, more personal. That was how David had found himself hacking into the school's internal network and extracting the personal and academic information for not only the six-hundred strong student body but also the entire school staff.

The school kept re-building their security system, stronger than before, David kept breaking through. The first time he was given detention, the second time he was suspended, the third time David was expelled.

The school had mistakenly believed that, with David gone, their problems had gone with him.

It took the IT department three weeks to change every student on the database from their assigned Harry Potter character to their original names. It had taken three secretaries to calm the livid principle and the authorities had eventually become involved.

His father; the head of one of Ohio's best-known advertising firms, and his mother; a computer programmer with strong ties in high social circles, had been mortified at their son's illicit activities. Following much negotiation the Jackson family had decided to willingly enrol David at Dalton Academy given the charges against their son were dropped.

David dragged a chair to sit next to Blaine, propping his feet up on the stool and crossing his arms.

"Where has he gone?" Blaine asked, staring out through the door at the empty hallway.

David contemplated for a second before replying, "Recruiting probably."

David had an incredible ability to treat all of Wes' spontaneous acts of madness as though they were completely normal. Blaine wasn't able to humour him as well as David, today being no exception.

"So much for that easy money..." Blaine grumbled. David's eyebrows quirked up. "Oh shut up David."

Wes and David had paved their own paths at Dalton. Wes' quick thinking and neat punches had evoked respect amongst other students almost immediately whilst David had, at first, struggled.

A group of boys, headed by a gormless boy by the name of Tyler Owens, had jibed and jostled David for an entire week before he acted. One of the conditions of David's punishment was that he be stripped of any and all computer usage, something that had initially put David at a disadvantage. Unknown to David and the rest of the students, Wes had been keeping a close eye on the new boy. After hearing whispers of hacking and computer misuse Wes' interest peaked; the boy formed a plan.

David and Wes became friends the moment Wes presented he disgruntled boy with a battered laptop he'd acquired by questionable means. David never questioned and before the week was out Tyler had accumulated a £4,472 bill on his parent's credit card and an obscene amount of X-Rated videos had been delivered to the Owens' household.

Nobody messed with David again, and he and Wes became close friends.

The two boys had been amongst the first people to invade Blaine's music room. Blaine had never really had friends before, a lot of the time they'd driven him insane but in other ways they'd made him retain the little hold on sanity he possessed in those early days. They'd taken him in, despite his reluctance.

The sound of voices made David and Blaine turn, a group of younger, displeased looking boys came shuffling through the door. Wes, wearing a much more controlled, intimidating expression walked in behind them, clipping one across the head with the back of his hand as he passed them. Blaine's eyes skimmed over the crowd of boys, he recognised some of the less hostile faces from his own stint in Dalton and was pleased to see Jeff, Thad and a few other Warblers. Blaine's eyes flew over these easily, lingering on only one.

He walked in last, the boy from yesterday, his head held high and his shoulders squared. The pull of his lips and the blazing challenge in his eyes gave him an air of superiority that was not reflected in the plain clothing and limp, un-styled hair.

Blaine wanted to pull away all of his haughty air, to strip him of his collected countenance, to expose him and leave him raw. The sudden, violent urge came as a surprise. It was jolting and filled Blaine with apprehension. As he came further into the room, closer to Blaine, blue eyes focused and met his. Startled, Blaine didn't look away, instead he squared his shoulders and pulled himself up tall, mirroring the proud boy. They both stared at each other for a few short seconds, unaware of anything around them. Blaine was about to break the contact when the other boy's face twisted, lips tightening and nose scrunching, like he smelled something bad. He turned away first.

It took a little while for Blaine to process the fact that, yes, that boy had just looked at him with complete, unabashed disgust. The blow was cold at first, numbing, but soon the noise of over twenty highly-strung delinquents brought him firmly back to reality he felt the flicker of anger growing in his stomach. The flame burst to life and all of a sudden Blaine was absolutely _seething. _How fucking _dare _he?He desperately wanted to get up and make sure that boy never, ever looked at him like that again. It wouldn't be the first time he had. But he didn't, he stayed exactly where he was, fists balled up at his side and he couldn't understand why.

"That guy..." Blaine began through gritted teeth, staring after the lithe-limbed irritation, now leaning against the window frame, alone and removed from the rest of the group. Wes and David considered this reaction and shared a significant look over their shorter friends head as he glared past them.

"That would be Kurt Hummel." David said. Blaine didn't turn to acknowledge his friend but his eyebrows pulled together in response.

Kurt Hummel.

There was something tugging insistently at Blaine's memory but trying to recall felt like groping through thick fog, this only served to fuel his frustration. Blaine didn't like the way his insides were stirring, how one look had left him so disturbed. Blaine had learnt to control his emotions, he wasn't _stirred_ by other people.

"Seems someone's getting their little hobbit-head well and truly messed with." David commented. "Don't you think Wes?" The pair grinned mockingly, Blaine scowled at them.

"I fucking hate you both." He said, pushing himself off the piano stool. He heard the two descending into sniggers behind him as he stalked away towards Thad with a scowl.

* * *

><p>Kurt crossed his arms and surveyed the rest of the room with a frown. He hadn't planned on attending the stupid music workshop, none of them had. This morning, Mr. Matthews had, in his usual enthusiastic manner encouraged them all to take part but the class had just snickered, not even pausing to consider it for a second. Although Kurt had, fleetingly, felt a slight flush of excitement at the prospect of music he had quickly reasoned with himself. He laughed with the rest of them, only feeling the slightest pangs of disappointment. Maybe it would have been nice to sing again but he knew that Dalton was not Glee. Here, his voice would earn him nothing but ridicule and abuse. Kurt would remain silent for as long as he remained at Dalton.<p>

He'd pushed the prospect to the very back of his mind, not even allowing himself to consider it and when the time for the workshop came around Kurt was deeply immersed in his English textbook. Then Wes had rushed in to the rec room where most of them had been avoiding the music room, and herded them all out threatening to beat anyone who refused. The rest of the boys had complied without much resistance knowing it wasn't worth arguing with Wes. Kurt had remained seated where he was, head low over the old desk, focused on his homework. He'd hoped that Wes would overlook him and leave, the rest shuffled out of the room and eventually it fell silent. Kurt relaxed but his relief was short-lived.

"You too, Hummel." Kurt flinched. Wes was standing over him; expectant. Kurt considered arguing but realised that it would be in his best interests to simply go along with it. He sighed and closed his textbook, getting up and exiting the room, shadowed by Wes.

"I don't get it," Kurt said as they ascended the stairs. Wes raised his eyebrows in question.

"Why are you so eager for us all to go to this stupid workshop?" Wes smiled a little, looking away from him.

"Favour to an old friend," Wes answered vaguely.

"And who might this friend _be_?" Kurt pressed with a hint of irritation.

"His name's Blaine, he used to go here," was all Wes said before jogging to reach the rest of the boys.

It wasn't until Kurt entered the music room that Kurt had realised who 'Blaine' was. As he made his way through the throng of delinquents, those hazel eyes had locked with his. Kurt had felt a slight increase in his heart rate, fight or flight response kicking in. Something unnerved him about that fixed gaze, it was too intense.

_Relax, _he'd told himself sternly, forcing his beating chest back to its usual rhythm and flashing _Blaine _a withering look before turning abruptly away and walking brusquely over to the window where he now stood, regarding the scene before him.

Next to him he could hear two freshmen speaking in low tones.

"Why is everyone so mad about this Blaine guy anyways?" Asked one, "Blaine's a fuckin' stupid name anyways!"

His friend shook his head, "You shouldn't mess with him."

"Yeah?" The first boy looked amused "What makes him so special, huh?"

Kurt wondered the exact same thing, turning to stare in Blaine's direction. He'd already looked away, talking with Wes and David. He looked agitated, Kurt smiled. He could think of a few things that made him special now that he'd had a closer look, but Kurt quickly steered his thoughts clear of _those_ particular, perilous trains of thought.

"Dude, I hear he _killed_ his stepfather," muttered the friend, glancing around nervously.

Now _that_ got his attention, the ever-present superior smile fell from Kurt's face in an instant and he pushed off the window frame to walk over to them.

He turned to the friend, a red-haired boy with a face covered in freckles, "He what?" The red-head glanced at Kurt, surprised but then his jaw set confidently.

"You heard me." He said, stealing a nervous glance in Blaine's direction. The first boy, short but burly, did the same.

"How the fuck did he end up _teaching_ here then?" Kurt asked, now the initial surprise had worn off the scepticism came rushing in.

Burly boy shrugged but his freckled friend cut in.

"One day he was here, then all of a sudden no one ever hear from him again. He'd been acting weird for a couple of weeks but we never thought anything of it. He was a weird kid from the start, I guess."

Kurt must have still looked unbelieving because he rushed on, "Apparently he got sent to some wacko doctor."

That was the last straw for Kurt. He looked at Blaine, whose face had transformed in laughter surrounded by a group of boys away from the piano having left Wes and David to their own devices. _No_, he thought, _that doesn't look like the face of a killer to me. _

Kurt was about to tell the boys exactly how little faith he had in their speculations when an argument suddenly burst to life, the piano rolled a few meters as a blur of figures crowded around two brawling figures. Kurt craned his neck to see who had initiated the fight but could see nothing but the backs of the rest, shoving each other for a better view. Suddenly the crowd parted and Aiden's blonde head burst from the wall of closely-packed bodies colliding with the floor, an audible crack sounded throughout the room. A cheer rose as Aiden squirmed.

The boy was spluttering and rolling in pain as Blaine emerged from the circle and loomed over him with a maddened expression. He lunged forward suddenly, grabbed Aiden by the shirt and dragged him up. The other hand was balled up in a fist, he pulled the arm back, ready to deliver another blow.

At that moment Mr. Matthews came rushing in through the door.

"Blaine!" The teacher shouted firmly over the jeering boys who were vying for blood.

Blaine froze and his face relaxed, he looked almost puzzled to find himself clutching the boys clothing. Blaine closed his eyes and took a series of deep breaths, all the while keeping a firm grip on Aiden. Without warning his eyes snapped open and he threw the boy to the floor forcefully.

"You aren't worth my fucking time." Blaine said through clenched teeth, crouching low so his face was mere inches from Aiden's.

He straightened up and beneath him Aiden scrambled to get to his own feet. Wes stuck out his foot in the boy's path and he nearly went tumbling back down. Aiden glared at Wes and the other boys laughed.

"Get the hell out of here." Blaine said in a low voice. Aiden's face twisted in anger and humiliation but he obliged, kicking chairs out of his way as he stormed from the classroom. Mr. Matthews moved aside to let the angry youth through. A frustrated yell was heard as the boy disappeared down the corridor.

It took Kurt a while to process what had just happened, he could feel the incredulous expression on his face as he turned to stare at Blaine. He ran his hand through his thick curls and exhaled heavily through his mouth, Kurt found himself staring. This boy wasn't the same as the one who had laughed with his friends mere moments earlier.

Blaine must have felt it because suddenly he froze hand still knotted in the dark hair, and turned around. His eyes scanned the room and then he found Kurt's and the intense rage flickered into something akin to calm. The fire was still there but the profound fury of a few moments earlier had ebbed away. Kurt saw Blaine's thick eyebrows pull together in confusion, this time Kurt was the first to look away. His heart was beating fast, a mix of shock, fear and something indefinable...

"Blaine, a word?" Mr. Matthews asked over the laughter and chatter. Blaine looked at the teacher and sighed, looking resigned.

"Just like old times, huh Blaine?" Wes asked with a grin. Blaine didn't acknowledge him at first, but as he followed Mr. Matthews out the classroom but paused in the doorframe to turn and flash Wes the finger. Wes and the rest of the boys snickered.

This time Kurt didn't say anything. He stared at the door Blaine had exited through and wondered.

The rest of the boys milled around for a while, laughing and recounting old stories about Blaine Anderson. Apparently the boy had quite the reputation.

Gradually the room began to empty and as the last traces of laughter disappeared down corridors and stairways Kurt was alone again. He walked over to the piano and crouched down to retrieve the fallen sheet music, he ran his thumb over the clean lines and swirling notes. He didn't recognise the song or artist but the familiarity of the notes, the simplicity of ink on paper that could hold the secret to creating the most beautiful, most haunting, most memorable of sounds and innumerable possibilities. Kurt straightened up on the piano stool, traced his fingers lightly across the chipped keys of the piano without pressing the notes, folded the sheet music and placed it carefully in his bag without creasing the paper further. Kurt closed the bag and left the room.

* * *

><p>This was like a horrible dream. Sat before Mr. Matthews, scowling, arms crossed – it was a situation he'd found himself innumerable times in the past but hoped that, like many things it would remain just that, the <em>past<em>. Matthews' eyebrows pulled together and down in a familiar mask of disappointment.

Blaine hated that stupid expression, most of the boys did. He hastened to defend himself.

"Look, if you don't like my teaching methods – " Matthews' actually laughed before cutting him off.

"Blaine those aren't _teaching_ _methods._" Said the teacher with a shake of his head, he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I thought you'd gotten past this."

Blaine's jaw tightened, "Old habits die hard."

Blaine didn't expect anything from Blaine, why should anybody else? He pushed back his chair and straightened up.

"My shift at the gas station starts in half an hour." He said, picking his up his jacket from behind the chair and shrugging it on. Mr. Matthews placed his glasses carefully on the table.

"I expect I'll see you back here next Wednesday." He said. Blaine looked at him as though he'd heard wrong.

"You seriously want me to come back after what happened today?" Blaine asked him flatly.

"Just because you've given up on yourself doesn't mean the world has, Blaine." He said gently. Blaine rolled his eyes and began to back out of the classroom.

"You should save that guidance shit for the rest of them." Mr. Matthews laughed behind him. Blaine turned and continued, "Also, if that douchebag Aiden comes anywhere near me again, you'll have no choice but to fire me. I won't hold back."

Blaine didn't stop to catch Mr. Matthews reaction but as he left the room he called, "I'll see you next Wednesday."

Blaine walked out of the classroom with the hint of amusement still present in his quirked lips. He didn't notice that there was someone leaning against the wall outside the classroom until they stepped out in front of him, almost knocking him over. Blaine jumped back in surprise.

"_Shit_!" Kurt tilted his head forward and he raised his eyebrows. Blaine felt irritation taking hold.

"You don't just go jumping out in front of people like that!" He defended himself. Even ringing in his ears it sounded weak. Kurt rolled his eyes and Blaine was struck by the fact that this was certainly someone unlike he'd ever met before.

"Here," Kurt said, holding out a bunch of neatly folded papers. Blaine regarded the papers suspiciously but reached out to take them anyway, he opened them up, eyes fixed on Kurt's who betrayed no emotion. "You dropped them earlier," he added.

Blaine glanced down to see the sheet music that he'd dropped before lunging for Aiden.

"Why'd you hit him?" Kurt asked curiously, tilting his head.

_Because he called me a fag,_ Blaine thought. He regarded Kurt's cool, even expression.

"He deserved it," Blaine answered, Kurt nodded.

There was an awkward, tense moment where neither of them said anything, broken when Kurt cleared his throat lightly. Blaine felt a mix of conflicting emotions, the sound was so gentle, it contrasted strikingly to the hardened, haughty exterior. Blaine wondered what other contradictions hid beneath the surface.

"Thanks for these, I guess." Blaine held up the papers lamely.

Kurt's lips twitched, the ghost of a grin, before his face tensed into the expressionless mask once more. "You're welcome," he said before turning and making his way down the corridor.

Blaine checked his watch, it was after the last bell. A person who'd looked at him like he was something dirty he'd found on his shoe had waited for him outside this room for fifteen minutes.

Blaine tried to push the emotions warring inside him – confusion, contentment, frustration, _fascination –_ to the very back of his mind before making his way out of the school.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N I know, I know, where the hell did I go? I could complain for pages I assure you but I'm not going to subject you lovely people to that. Instead I'm going to put a sock in it now and let you read this. It's very Kurt-centric and longer than usual but I thought it was important for you to have a snapshot of Kurt's home-life as Dalton!Kurt has been a bit limited so far. I hope you enjoy it and I also hope that the next chapter will be out faster, I've been in a rut with this one but the next chapters should come a little easier I should think. They've all been sketched out anyway. **

**So yeah, here it is. Like I've said before, I love to know what you think and such so drop me a line either on tumblr or fanfiction. That's all, enjoy!**

* * *

><p>The door slammed loudly as Kurt entered the empty house the noise echoing back at him through the silent hall. With a sigh he threw down his keys into a little blown-glass bowl by the door and trudged into the lounge. Kurt always parked a few blocks from Dalton so he was always later home than Finn, he didn't trust his peers anywhere near the glossy black navigator. The car had been a birthday gift for his 'sweet sixteen' and Kurt didn't deserve it. The week before this milestone Kurt had been suspended from school for fighting again. He had a good reason of course but the look of disappointment etched into his father's face broke his heart and filled him with self-loathing. Every year, on Kurt's birthday, Burt would take a photo and stick it in the scrapbook that his mother had started when he was a baby. The book was considerably sloppier from Kurt's seventh year onwards but it was a tradition that Burt cherished in the sense that it was one of the only ones he'd been able to uphold following Sarah's death. Kurt hated the photo that depicted his sixteenth year. Every time he thought about the ugly, blackened eye and the split lip pulled up in a strained smile he felt the bile churning in his stomach. The worst part was that Kurt felt like that single photo sullied his mother memory and for that reason it remained a constant reminder of shame and regret.<p>

The tired part of Kurt's brain wanted to just crash and sleep where he was, slumped on the couch, but his rational side had him up from the cushions and trudging up the stairs. It was a Friday, meaning Finn had football practice, Burt was at the garage till six and Carole wouldn't be home from work until five. Kurt enjoyed the few, blissful hours of alone-time this gave him.

Kurt opened the door to his room and dropped his bag at the foot of his bed before making his way to the vanity that had once belonged to his mother. The boy he saw reflected in the glass was slightly gaunter than the boy who had left McKinley, his hair fell limply on his forehead and the circles beneath his eyes looked darker than they had been a few months ago. His frame was held differently too, his body was stiff from being perpetually tense. He frowned and rolled his shoulders to try to relieve some of the weight to little avail. More than anything the change was reflected in Kurt's dull, defeated eyes. Kurt sighed at his reflection feeling the dissatisfaction take hold of his heart before picking out a round barrel brush from the neat row of assorted hair products. With great care he scraped the loose hair back from his forehead, working it back with precision. With every stroke he felt himself relax, his eyes lost the threatening glint and adopted the aloof, superior coolness that the rest of the world expected from him. He closed his eyes and picked up the can of hairspray, spraying a generous amount that would keep his hair intact for the rest of the evening. The smell of hair product shouldn't offer as much comfort to Kurt as it did but it was a scent that was so inherently _him_. After fixing his hair he applied his favourite moisturizer, smudging a little eye cream to reduce the bags forming beneath his eyes.

Kurt usually liked to shower after his day at Dalton, turning the water dial to almost scalding so that he felt all of the resentment and bitterness at his situation wash away with the rest of the water swirling down the drain. Unfortunately he was meeting Mercedes and Rachael this evening so he'd have to skip on the shower if he was going to have enough time to make dinner before he left.

Another glance up at the mirror showed a boy transformed, hair impeccably coiffed and a little content smile pulling at his lips. This was a reflection he recognised, this was Kurt Hummel. His hand wandered to the simple, navy T-shirt that he'd worn that day and he pinched the simple fabric between his thumb and index finger gingerly. He'd once told Mercedes that 'every opportunity was an opportunity for fashion', in Dalton he'd found his exception. His eyes wandered over to the wardrobe that he could see reflected in the mirror and he rose from the bench so he could shed the plain clothes.

This image change was something Kurt did every day after returning from Dalton. It was something he needed to do for the sake of his sanity and usually he wouldn't emerge to greet his family until it was complete. At home he allowed himself to be him, just Kurt. It was a side none of the students at Dalton would ever see, even the few people who he'd felt any semblance of friendship towards.

One month. That was all the time he had left at Dalton, then it would be back to McKinley for his final semester. As he picked through the large wardrobe critically he tried not to steer his thoughts away from the dark curls and hazel eyes that threatened to take over.

_Blaine Anderson, _Kurt mused as he finally reached into the wardrobe. From the rows of neatly organised clothes he retrieved a purple button-down shirt and a pair of tight black jeans. There was something strange about the boy, he decided. The way he'd shouted at him the first day compared to the glares in the music room right across to their mild, easy exchange that very same day. From what Kurt had seen from Blaine on a one to one basis he really didn't deserve the reputation he held. On the other hand his run-in with that homophobic bastard Aiden and the snippets of conversation he'd heard about his stepfather were more testament to his reputation...

Kurt laid his clothes out on the black fur throw on his bed and scrutinized his choice with a critical eye. After a few moments deliberation he coupled it with a black tie and black Doc Martens. Kurt thought about his and Blaine's brief exchange last Wednesday as he buttoned up the shirt. He'd asked the shorter boy why he'd hit Aiden.

"_Because he deserved it,"_ he'd answered. Most people got on with Aiden quite well. Kurt wasn't one of those people as Kurt embodied everything a homophobe like Aiden hated. Something he'd learned early on about Aiden was that he barked loud enough but when it came down to it the boy had no bite. Aiden had only called Kurt out once, at the start of his time at Dalton. It hadn't ended well for Aiden. Kurt had bloodied his nose with his first swing and Aiden had gone down like a sack of potatoes. He supposed that he owed the boy really, he hadn't had much bother from anybody following that fight and the rest of his classmates had welcomed him much more warmly. If Aiden had done something to deserve Blaine's retaliation Kurt couldn't help but wonder if Aiden had singled the boy out for the same reasons he'd targeted Kurt...

No, he couldn't start thinking like that. He didn't need to start thinking like that. All Kurt needed was to keep low until he could leave. He'd already looked into college prospects and as long as he kept his grades up his heart was set on New York.

He closed the last button and knotted his simple black tie before opening the wardrobe and surveying himself in the full-length mirror inside the door. _Perfect_, he thought with a satisfied smile. Pushing all things Dalton to the back of his mind along with Blaine and the lacklustre version of himself he wore during the day he closed the wardrobe door and headed downstairs to start dinner.

The door opened and closed just as Kurt descended the last few steps and he came face to face with the hulking giant he called his step-brother. Things had gotten much better between the unlikely pair in the past few months, ever since the day Kurt attacked Thomas. Finn and Carol had been worried about Kurt, it was clear to everyone that Kurt had decidedly shut himself away and refused to accept any helping hands. Despite this Carol had sent Finn over to check up on him. Poor Finn had done his best to calm Kurt even though he kept lashing out at him. Finn could have easily overpowered him but he didn't, he never dealt a single blow. Instead, Finn had helped him get cleaned up and taken him over to the Hudson-household. Kurt had slept on the couch. All hell broke loose the next morning when the cops had turned up on Carol and Finn's doorstep but drained and resigned, Kurt had gone with the officers without a single complaint.

Looking up at his step-brother now with his big sloppy grin that night felt like years ago rather than months. It always gave Kurt peace of mind when his family saw him like this: well-dressed, groomed and most importantly in-control.

"Hey dude," Finn said enthusiastically, clapping him on the shoulder.

"How was school?" Kurt asked with a small smile.

Finn frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. Kurt recognised this expression, he'd seen many times, even before he'd left McKinley.

"Trouble with Rachel?" he asked.

"Something like that," Finn sighed. Kurt felt a rush of sympathy for his hulking step-brother. He tried, that much could be said at the very least and Kurt had great respect for people who tired.

"Come on franken-teen," Kurt said brushing past him, "I'll make us something to eat."

Finn's face brightened as it always did at any mention of food.

"Really? Dude you are like _the_ best brother ever!" Kurt rolled his eyes, opening cupboards and assembling everything he needed precisely on the counter before him. Finn flopped down into one of the dining chairs, the wood creaked in protest against his sudden weight.

"Finn, don't throw yourself on the furniture!" Kurt snapped without looking away from his ingredients.

"Sorry," Finn said between yawns. "How's Dalton?"

"It's fine," Kurt said curtly before flicking the switch on the food processor and putting end to any more conversation as machine whirred to life and its loud throng drowned out all other sound.

* * *

><p>Dinner had been a relatively routine event. Burt, Carole and Finn discussed their days as Kurt smiled and nodded, asking the occasional question. His family tried to coax him into talking about Dalton but he'd become an expert at diverting attention from himself, something he never thought he'd have to do. More than anything Kurt enjoyed the normality. Home was one of the only places that ever felt completely safe.<p>

After dinner Finn had been ordered to wipe the dishes as Carol washed them. He was forbidden from actually cleaning the dishes as his clumsy hands struggled with general objects, let alone Kurt's favourite plates covered perilously in slippery, sudsy water.

Kurt left them to it and made his way to the lounge where his father sat on the couch. Kurt's forehead wrinkled a little as his eyes followed the outline of his father's legs, propped up on the coffee table as usual. He'd already left a mark on the smooth, polished surface through scuffing it with his work-boots. Kurt had protested vehemently against this behaviour, he'd been positively incensed when he'd first discovered the ugly patches.

"_Kurt, a man should be allowed to be comfortable in his own home_!_"_ he'd protested at the time. They'd argued about it but in the end they were able to compromise, Burt had conceded to remove his shoes at the door and Kurt would allow him to be 'comfortable'. Despite this he was still struck by a flash of annoyance.

Kurt stood, leaning against the doorway for a second and allowed himself to really look at Burt, illuminated dimly by the TV's flickering glow. The colour had returned to his full cheeks and his eyes retained their strong, healthy glow. His shoulders were relaxed, free from the burden of Kurt's trouble at McKinley. Kurt felt a pang of guilt and pushed it to the back of his mind for it to eat away at him unconsciously there before uncrossing his arms and flicking the light switch. He watched in amusement as Burt blinked blindly before glaring over at his son.

"Geez, Kurt. Haven't I told you a thousand times not to do that?"Kurt glided across the room and settled behind the couch where his father was sitting, crouching behind it so that they were both level.

"Sitting in the dark with your eyes glued to the TV is bad for your eyes," Kurt shook his head in mock exasperation, "I've told _you_ that a thousand times."

"Yeah, well..." Burt grumbled, shifting in his seat and re-focusing on the TV set. "Aren't you going bowling?"

"Yeah," Kurt said, straightening up. "I'm just leaving to pick Mercedes up now."

Burt nodded and turned to offer him a lopsided smile, Kurt smiled back and he saw a flicker of worry in his father's eyes. His stomach dropped in anticipation for what would follow next.

"You're doing alright at that Dalton school, right? You don't talk to any of us about it. I worry about you Kurt." Burt was frowning deeply now and Kurt's chest constricted in guilt. He sighed and looked away for a second before crouching down again and placing his arms gingerly around his father's neck. He tightened his arms in a gentle hug and was comforted by the scent of car oil that seemed to have almost become infused with Burt's own natural scent after all the years spent at the garage.

"I'm going to be fine Dad," he said into his father's neck. He pulled away but Burt held onto one of his hands, shifting in his seat so that he was facing him better.

"I just want you to be happy Kurt, that's all I want."

Kurt wished he could smooth away the lines of worry that had seemed a permanent fixture over the years. Kurt wished he could tell him that he _was _happy but that was one lie that neither of them would believe.

Instead he said the one thing that would never cease being true, "I love you Dad."

"I love you too, Kurt," Said Burt, he smiled but it didn't quite reach his eyes and the lines of worry were still visible. Burt gave Kurt's arm one more little squeeze before releasing him. Kurt hovered a little, fidgeting with his watch. Burt saw him squirming and laughed.

"Go on," he said with a grin and turned back to the TV, "you don't want to be late on my account."

Kurt felt all the tension drain away from his body and he smiled fondly at his father.

"I'll be back around ten," he said.

Burt raised a hand and waved him away.

"That's fine, you go have fun. I'll see you when you get home."

Kurt nodded even though Burt was now completely engrossed with the men running on-screen, he swiftly made his way into the hall, calling out a quick 'bye' to Carole and Finn as he picked up his black satchel from the banister where he'd left it. He heard the faint sound of Carol and Finn shouting out 'see you later' as he pressed down on the handle and opened the door. The bitterly cold air made him shiver a little, he reached over to grab his keys from the little bowl he'd thrown them in earlier that evening and made his way to his car, closing the door behind him.

* * *

><p>Kurt liked driving in the dark. It was relaxing, especially right now with his window rolled down and the chilly air filling his lungs. He could breathe easier like this. He had been looking forward to seeing Mercedes and, dare he say it, Rachael, all week. Despite this there was still a small part of him that was dreading the outing. Not because he didn't want to see them, they were the two best friends he'd ever had and he loved them but... that was just the problem, wasn't it? With their careful, concerned eyes trained on him all night it would be impossible to act his part, what if they saw right through him? It was as though he'd gotten so used to playing the cold shell that was Dalton Kurt that he feared he may be morphing into the bland boy altogether. In reality that was his biggest fear, the greatest humiliation and defeat – losing himself to that school, to the bullies that had plagued him all his life.<p>

He shouldn't feel like this, he thought as he navigated his way around the parked cars that lined Mercedes' quiet residential street. Nevertheless, when Mercedes climbed, beaming, into the passenger seat the smile that lit up his face was genuine. The warmth of affection rekindled inside of him in an instant and when she reached over to give him a tight, warm squeeze he allowed himself to relax into the embrace and appreciate the closeness. Kurt kept his physical distance as a general rule but Mercedes had always been one exception, as had Rachael in recent months. Finn hugged him on occasion but that was usually an ordeal for both of them and Finn hadn't really hugged him since his court appearance. Since he'd enrolled at Dalton they hadn't hugged at all, although Finn did get that weird look in his eyes sometimes, like he wanted to do _something _to comfort him.

He and Mercedes fell into easy, comfortable conversation almost at once. She updated him on the latest situation with Rachel and Finn before they picked the petite star up and the state of the other sporadic relationships within the Glee club. Kurt was happy to hear that Tina and Mike were the only glee club couple that were still keeping steady and strong. He felt the old, familiar pang of longing somewhere hidden deep in his chest but it was faint now, the desperation for someone special to share his life with had long since lost the hold it once had on his heart. Kurt sometimes felt like he'd lost something essential along the way in that sense, to lose the passion and deep-rooted _want_ that had consumed him for so long couldn't be normal, could it? Thankfully, before he could pull himself too far down gloomy trains of thought they pulled up in front of Rachel's house and she bounded happily into the car launching straight into a fast-paced update on all things Rachel Berry. Kurt shook his head in mock exasperation. He glanced at Mercedes with a smirk and she rolled her eyes and they both fell into silence, letting Rachel rattle on.

"-and I really think that through writing original songs we could have a real advantage over the competition," finished Rachel in a final, matter of fact tone. There was silence for a second before Kurt sighed dreamily.

"I miss Glee..." he admitted in a quiet voice, more to himself than the two other girls. The moment the words had escaped his lips he knew it had been a mistake. The light mood in the car instantly shifted and suddenly the air felt heavy and oppressive. Mercedes turned to look at him with a sympathetic, concerned expression. Kurt's eyes flickered up to his overhead mirror and saw that Rachel wore a similar mask of worry. His hands gripped a little harder on the wheel. This had been exactly what he'd wanted to avoid.

"So how are you doing?" Mercedes asked after a while. Kurt's eyes flicked quickly to her face and back to the road, her face was unchanged. This was the look Kurt hated, the eyes full to the brim with pity that Kurt neither needed nor, in reality deserved. Kurt pulled one hand away from the steering wheel and leaned his elbow against the open window frame and leant his head into his open palm.

"I told you, I'm fine Mercedes," Kurt said in a tired, resigned voice. They seemed to always stumble upon this conversation every time they met up. Kurt dreaded it.

"You always say that!" Mercedes protested with eyes fierce. Kurt placed both hands back on the wheel and willed himself not to lose his temper breathing in deeply through his nose and gritting his teeth. He loved the girls, he really did, but things were just so much _simpler _when he was alone.

"Why can't you talk to us about it?" Rachel asked quietly from the back seat, sounding small.

_Oh god, _thought Kurt. His fingers became even tighter on the wheel, his knuckles whitening. Maybe this whole outing had been a mistake.

"Because I don't want to talk about it," Kurt ground out through clenched teeth, only barely controlled. Mercedes frowned, looking hurt. Rachel shrunk back in the seat and fell silent. Kurt was instantly flooded with an awful sense of guilt. He took a few shallow breaths before speaking.

"It's a reform school, it's not a walk in the park but I'm coping. It's... different to McKinley. I mean, I get more peace there because I can just..." He trailed off, struggling to find a way to explain. He glanced at both quickly as he pulled up at a red light. They were uncomfortable when Kurt talked about his more violent episodes and Kurt didn't want to upset them.

"I'm a different person there," he explained gently as the light flickered back to green and he took the road on the left, "but when I'm with you two, tonight, I get to be me again."

They didn't answer him so he continued, almost begging.

"Please, I know you're worried but just allow me that?" There was silence and then just as abruptly as the heavy atmosphere had descended it dispersed.

"Girl, is that a personalised bowling ball?" Mercedes asked suddenly. In the mirror Kurt saw Rachel's eyes widen and she clutched the bowling-ball shaped bag to her chest.

"It's my lucky bowling ball!" She defended. Kurt knew without seeing it that the ball would be adorned in gold stars.

* * *

><p>"Blaine! I aint' paying you to stand around!"<p>

Blaine breathed deeply trying to repress the rage that this weekly humiliation induced. He counted silently in his head.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" Gary pressed. Blaine finally looked up at the vile, overweight man with the vastly receding hairline. A wave of intense dislike for his boss crashed over him, he balled up his fists and clenched his jaw.

"I'm sorry Gary," he said through gritted teeth, "it won't happen again."

"You're damn right it won't," Gary said with an unpleasantly smug look on his bloated face and pushed another grease-soaked fry into his mouth with fat, stubby fingers. On Thursday evenings Blaine worked at the local bowling alley. It was one of the jobs he loathed the most. For starters the clothing was ridiculous. A garish clash of turquoise and orange that his bowling shirt consisted of right down to the stupid clown-like bowling shoes that Gary insisted they all wore.

Blaine's ability to stay calm in the presence of the power-starved tyrant he called his boss was a testament to how far Blaine had come over the past months. A year ago Blaine would never have been able to keep his cool around this fat, neckless toad.

Blaine grabbed a dirty rag and went to clear some of the tables on the bowling lane, leaving Gary to his one and only love – food. With a wary sigh Blaine began stacking the paper trays and cups into neat piles and wiping the sticky, grimy surfaces. The entire bowling alley was designed in usual, tacky fifties style complete with flashing, pink neon signs and a basic layout that hadn't changed for the best part of forty years. Apparently Gary had a fetish for vintage. Unfortunately a lack of any semblance of taste detracted from what the place could be. In this state it simply look run down and sad. One of the employees who had been here for three years had told Blaine that the dim-witted boss had once even ordered a dozen pairs of roller-skates and handed them out to the small diner's waitresses, much to their horror. That particular show of idiocy had resulted in a broken arm and a lawsuit, the roller-skates had been thrown out shortly thereafter.

"Well that's just not fair," a girl exclaimed from the next lane, over the sound of crashing pins and excited squealing, "How the hell can you pull off _bowling shoes_."

"Mercedes you're being ridiculous, no one can pull off bowling shoes."

Almost at once his head shot up, interest peaked.

_Kurt Hummel_, Blaine realised and sure enough as the boy turned around to roll his eyes at the two girls Blaine's breath caught in his throat. Because this person _sounded_ like Hummel and sure as hell _looked_ like Hummel but somehow he was completely and utterly changed in a way Blaine couldn't comprehend. Sure, there was the clothes and the hair, both immaculate and far beyond anything he'd ever seen displayed on the other Dalton boys, but then there was something deeper too. The change was in his eyes, the quirk of his mouth, his relaxed shoulders. He only saw this for a split second as Kurt turned back around to watch a short, brunette girl jump up and walk towards the lane with a bright blue bowling ball adorned with little golden stars. He knew he should just walk away and leave him alone. He looked at peace here and that alone was enough to warm Blaine from the inside out. A regular, decent person would have walked away. Unfortunately, despite his best efforts to convince himself otherwise Blaine still had a long way to go. In the back of his mind he told himself he simply wanted to get back at him for making a fool of him before Wes and David earlier on in the week but a niggling part of him knew that this was a half-truth. As he approached their lane he could see Kurt's withering glances and glares, the sound of him cursing at him that very first day still resounded in his head. Blaine felt himself naturally gravitating towards the three friends, with the apparent purpose of easing his ego. Blaine would make Kurt squirm too, he decided. His heart sped up in anticipation as he circled the lane, keeping his eyes carefully trained on Kurt, until he was standing opposite him. He began wiping the table but kept his eyes on Kurt the entire time. Blaine heard a crash to his right and suddenly the petite girl was running back to the table.

"I got a strike! Mercedes, didn't I tell you I was a natural!" Her chest puffed out in pride and she swished her hair over her shoulder. The other girl, Mercedes, laughed while Kurt rolled his eyes with a tolerant smile.

"Yeah, I saw," Mercedes said in a humouring tone, "but that doesn't mean I'm not still going to beat your skinny white-girl behind."

It was at this point that Kurt noticed Blaine, for a minute he halted mid-laugh and his eyebrows pulled together slowly.

"Hey," Blaine said simply, without inflection. Blaine watched with interest as Kurt's face became slack, the humour fled from his features and the blood drained from his cheeks. His eyes lost the glow and fell into a flat dullness that Blaine recognised. Here was Kurt as he'd seen him at Dalton.

"Kurt," the petite girl asked uncertainly, looking from him to Blaine in concern. "Are you okay?"

Kurt's eyes flickered to his friends briefly and he somehow managed to compose his features, "I'm fine," he answered softly to them but as his eyes flashed back to Blaine they flashed with indignation and anger. Kurt rose from between the girls, Blaine felt suddenly conscious of his shortness as Kurt straightened up to his full height, he straightened too and both regarded each other carefully. The tension between them was tangible as the rest of the world faded around them.

"A word?" Kurt asked in a low, clipped tone. Blaine's eyebrows shot up but he stepped aside and gestured for Kurt to lead the way. Kurt studied his open palm with suspicion before turning back to his friends and giving them a reassuring smile, "This will only take a second."

Blaine stole a glance at the girls, who were glaring at him and looking unconvinced. Blaine knew he shouldn't but for some reason he really wanted to get under Kurt's skin so he flashed them a smile and winked. The girls looked stunned and Blaine had to hide his self-satisfied grin when Kurt's head shot around impatiently to see why he wasn't following. The boy's eyes narrowed but he turned around without another word and proceeded to lead them out of the lane. Blaine passed Jeremiah on the way, looking curiously at the pair.

"Tell Gary I'm taking a break," Blaine commanded. Jeremiah shook his head disapprovingly but agreed with a nod, rolling his eyes.

Blaine had to jog to catch back up with Kurt who'd flung the nearest fire door open and stomped outside into the chilly air. Blaine followed, shivering unconsciously at the sharp air against his bare forearms. There was a loud, echoing slam as the heavy doors swung closed behind them and then they were standing in the grimy, deserted alleyway in silence. Kurt was facing the opposite wall with his back to Blaine. He stood so still and stiff that almost looked like he'd been standing there forever and the rest of the world had simply grown around him. Blaine had previously, fleetingly thought Kurt attractive but it was something he'd quickly pushed aside and repressed. Having said that, his silhouette now against the glaring, flashing glow of the single overhead lamp was something completely new and threatened to undo him completely. Something hot and unwavering took a hold of Blaine's body, filling him up with emotion. Emotion that was completely foreign and frightening in the way it felt so familiar and right.

"You look different," Blaine said at last, cutting into the thick silence. He was surprised at how low his voice sounded. Kurt was still for a moment but when he eventually turned around his face was torn, unsure. It wasn't the expression Blaine had expected and shame and guilt washed through him. It was a far cry from the satisfaction he'd hoped to gain.

"Go ahead then," Kurt spat out bitterly and Blaine saw a glint of fear creep into his eyes, "Do your worst."

Blaine frowned, Kurt was tense again, he looked as though he was about to fly off at any second. Blaine's eyes wandered across his face, his features were hard and resolute. Kurt looked so strong and proud but again, he could see the cracks that were beginning to appear under the strain. Carefully, without making any sudden movements Blaine backed away, crossing his arms and leaning against the brick wall. It was surprising how at ease he felt. He welcomed the feeling and wished that Kurt could feel it too.

"Relax, why would I do anything?" Blaine asked. Kurt looked stumped but that slowly dissolved leaving way for the irritation to seep in.

"What are you doing here?" Kurt asked indignantly, crossing his arms and mirroring Blaine's posture leaning against the wall opposite him in the narrow space. Blaine paused for a second, tilting his head to the side and considering this question before bursting out in laughter. Kurt looked taken aback and the irritation became more and more apparent as Blaine continued to laugh.

"What the fuck are you laughing at?" Kurt snapped after a minute of this. Blaine ignored him and in a second Kurt had crossed the space between them and pushed him, hard in the chest against the wall. Blaine blinked in surprise for but as soon as he saw Kurt's face that close to his all brain function flat lined. With his hair pulled back from his face like that it was easier to appreciate all the beautiful, sharp angles of his face. They were stunning, even when pulled together in anger. Blaine noticed that, despite the violent act he still felt a numbing calmness running through his body. The rage, the red, the lack of control, all of that had been washed away and the only thing left was Kurt.

"What am I doing here?" Blaine snorted incredulously, "Look at me!" Blaine gestured dramatically to the hideous shirt he was forced to wear.

Kurt's eyes wandered down to Blaine's chest and his face distorted into a comical mask of distaste.

"That thing should be burned," Kurt said and took a step back, re-enforcing both of their personal space. Blaine shook his head with a slight smile.

"I work here on Fridays," he explained, picking at the shirt with a frown.

"I didn't know," said Kurt, looking away. He rubbed his arms over the thin purple fabric, trying to keep warm against the chill. An awkward silence descended that neither wanted to be the first to break.

"I don't care, you know," Blaine said finally, Kurt glanced up.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I don't care what you do outside of Dalton, or in Dalton. Firstly it's none of my business and secondly..." He trailed off, locking his and Kurt's eyes and trying to look as sincere as possible because for some insane reason more than anything Blaine wanted this boy's trust.

"Secondly?" prompted Kurt without breaking their eye-contact.

"_Secondly,_ I went to Dalton," Blaine rubbed the back of his neck in a rare display of self-consciousness. "I know what it's like. Sometimes you have to become someone else in there or things get hard."

"Is that what happened to you?" asked Kurt.

"I guess so, but my situation is a little different than others," Blaine answered with a shrug.

"Different in what sense?" Blaine was surprised at the amount of curiosity in Kurt's tone.

Blaine smiled and shook his head with a smile.

"You should get back to your friends," said Blaine, evading the question. Kurt nodded slowly and crossed the alleyway, banging on the fire-door.

"So you're not going to tell anybody about... this?" Asked Kurt carefully, gesturing down to his clothes. Blaine simply shook his head with a smile as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He saw Kurt flash the packet a look of distaste as someone opened the fire door, giving the two a curious glance before walking away. Kurt held the door open and hesitated.

"Those things are really bad for you, you know," said Kurt simply, eyeing him as he flicked the top open and pulled one out.

"I know," Blaine answered with a smile. Kurt shook his head.

"I guess I'll see you next Wednesday then," said Kurt.

"Yeah," replied Blaine, he felt the grin stretching across his face before he could stop it, "I'll see you then."

Kurt nodded and turned to leave him behind before turning back quickly.

"Thanks," was all he said before he let the door close behind him and disappeared from sight. Blaine was left alone again.

_Gary is going to be pissed_, he chided himself but proceeded to light the cigarette and take a long drag, closing his eyes and savouring the calming sensation that washed over him before he exhaled. For the first time since Mr. Matthews mentioned the job at Dalton Blaine felt himself actually looking forward to Wednesday.


End file.
